Blackbird
by dudeurfugly
Summary: Casey gets a call from someone claiming to have kidnapped his niece. Severide follows Casey in his reckless rescue mission, but when things go south, they soon become the ones in need of saving. Held captive by a man intent on breaking them down both physically and mentally, Casey and Severide must band together to survive.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Just borrowing temporarily.**

**A/N: This is my first Chicago Fire fic. I just recently got into the show and I've enjoyed it a lot. Hope you like my attempt at fic for these guys. **

**Warnings: It's not going to be anything explicit, I can assure you, but just to be safe, there's violence, whump, and kidnapping. **

* * *

Kelly Severide let out a breath as he stepped into the warmth of his favorite pub and left the bitter chill of the wind at his back. He shook off the remnants of cold and pocketed his keys, face breaking into a crooked smile once he noticed a familiar figure seated at the bar. The place was practically deserted—nothing but a few stragglers too early for dinner and a couple of cops interspersed with the usual world-weary patrons. Kelly hadn't expected much for a Wednesday evening, but it was nice to see he would have a drinking partner after all.

Senses surrounded with the aroma of fried foods and spilled beer, he slid onto a stool beside his fellow lieutenant, Matt Casey, who nodded in acknowledgment. Kelly tapped a nonsense rhythm on the wooden countertop, fingers gliding along grooves from wear marks and messages etched into the surface. He smirked at a relatively fresh phone number with a crude heart scratched beside it.

"Usual," Kelly told the bartender.

He bumped his shoulder into Matt, who hadn't uttered a word. He was busy glaring a hole into his half-drained glass of beer. Matt had the appearance of a man who had been trying to hold up his entire world for too long to keep it from crumbling, only to realize too late that maybe he couldn't have stopped it in the first place. Kelly, on some level, could sympathize though he'd have a hard time admitting it. Then again, so would Matt.

"You're awfully pissed at something," he said. "That something wouldn't be me, would it?"

Kelly took a generous gulp of beer that had been slid down to him, tipping his glass to the bartender.

"Not today."

He couldn't help but let out a low chuckle. "Yeah, give it another twenty-four hours. I'm sure that'll change."

Some kind of classic rock song—hell if he knew the name—droning from the radio in the background filled the gap. He let Matt stew in his silence and continued to tap his fingers on the side of his glass, dripping water from the condensation everywhere. Matt held his gaze forward, on autopilot, his mind a million miles away from where he sat.

"I get it," Kelly started again. "I get that you don't want to talk, whatever. Fine by me. We're damn good at giving each other the silent treatment like nobody's business. But if I wanted to drink alone, I would've grabbed a bottle of Jameson and crashed on my couch."

Matt attempted a halfhearted smile. There were shadows under his eyes, made worse in the dim light.

"When's the last time you got a decent night's sleep?" Kelly asked.

"Ah…" Matt trailed off and scrubbed a palm into his eye like he was proving the point. "I honestly can't remember."

"Don't you think you should, you know, talk to somebody about that?"

Matt shot him the most sarcastic look he could manage and scoffed.

"Sure," he said, laughing for the first time since Kelly had set foot in the place, "sure, I'll get right on it."

"Yeah." Kelly signaled for two shots from the bartender and gave the second to Matt. He was somewhat surprised when he took it.

Kelly held his up, the amber liquid catching the light. He didn't need to mention the fact that he hadn't exactly been resting easy, either. The company was great, no doubt about it, but he couldn't recall a night in recent memory where he hadn't been violently shaken from sleep. If it wasn't a nightmare where Andy Darden took center stage, it was the pain in his shoulder filling him with agony and, if he was completely honest with himself, fear. Sometimes all three of these mixed with horrifying results. Kelly didn't allow himself to dwell on it. And, likewise, he couldn't expect Matt to dump his own problems on him.

"To…" Kelly lost his train of thought. He gestured his glass upward to Matt and hoped he would have a suggestion.

"To not pissing each other off for _at least_ the next twenty-four hours," Matt replied.

"All right. That I can drink to."

They downed their shots, glasses clinking against the countertop in unison once they'd been emptied, upside-down. It had been an old habit for the two of them dating back to the days when they were both too young, too arrogant, and jumping at the chance to drink each other under the table every Friday night. Neither one of them could count how many upside-down shot glasses had piled up between them during their friendship. Unfortunately, there wasn't nearly enough since things took a hit. Kelly liked to think of this one—maybe—as something of a peace offering.

"You can drink to it," Matt said. "But I don't know if you can keep to it."

"Put a little money on it and maybe you've got something," Kelly said with a laugh.

Matt gave him another one of his prized cynical glares, which he was never in short supply of.

"Why don't I just buy us another round?"

"Now _that_ sounds like the Casey I know," Kelly answered. "Using his own money to get himself drunk under the table."

"No, no, no, no," Matt protested. "Hold on. I never recall you drinki—"

"Yeah, because you were already passed out flat on your ass. I probably downed three more before I released you were done."

"You're a damn liar, Severide."

Kelly plastered on a smug grin and Matt ordered another round of shots for them. Matt hadn't planned on getting drunk, but he couldn't say he objected to the thought of it now considering how things were going lately. And knowing Severide, the two of them wouldn't be leaving sober anytime soon. The more he tossed around the idea, ignoring the impending doom of a hangover in the morning, the more he realized this might actually win him a good night's sleep if he finally managed to pass out.

Matt lifted the glass up to his lips and was about to tip it backward into his mouth when he felt his phone buzzing in the depths of his pocket. Eyebrow raised, he dug it out and found himself surprised at the contact lit up on the screen. Kelly tossed him a confused stare, his shot glass already emptied.

"Gotta take this," Matt said.

"No problem."

* * *

Matt abandoned his shot glass and took the phone call to the back of the bar. The crowd, while it wasn't anything like the weekends, had picked up for the dinner hour and it had become harder to hear. He stopped in the alcove near the restrooms and settled into the corner with his back pressed against the wall. He couldn't believe he was answering in the first place, but if she was calling him, it had to be of relative importance. Unless, of course, she wanted to get into another argument.

"Hey, Christie—"

He couldn't even finish his sentence because Christie let out a sob on the other end of the line. It was a desperate sort of sound, one Matt had heard on several occasions from the people whose loved ones they couldn't save.

"Christie, talk to me. What's going on?" he asked, though he didn't want to know the answer.

But Christie could only continue to cry, hysterical, between wheezes of air. Matt never felt so helpless in his entire life. It was a truly awful thing, listening to her weep, unable to comfort her, to ease her pain, unaware of what had caused her to crumple into such a mess. Somewhere between the body-wracking sobs and sniffling and gasps for breath, Matt heard Christie force out a name. It made his blood run cold, his own breath caught in his throat.

"_Violet_."

And then she repeated her daughter's name, each time sounding more and more distressed, using it like a mantra to cling to. Matt felt his pulse quicken, caught in between anger and panic. He needed Christie to calm down and tell him what was wrong because whatever conclusion his frantic mind jumped to progressively got worse. He saw a lot of nasty things on the job, and picturing his niece—sweet, cherub-faced Violet—in their place was not helping. At all.

"Oh, god, Violet…"

"Tell me what happened," Matt said. He realized he had to be the calm one right now instead of his sister. His free hand clenched into a fist to keep from shaking. "Christie, take a few deep breaths. Tell me what's going on. _Please_."

"She's gone."

A robotic beep alerted him to another incoming call, but he ignored it. Matt fought to speak again. "W-What do you mean _gone_?"

"Jim went to pick her up from school, like always," Christie said, her voice shuddering. She sniffled. "She wasn't there. Teacher said she was dismissed, but _she wasn't there_, Matt. She would never…" another sob escaped her, "she would _never _do that. Someone took her, I know they did. I don't know who, but—_oh, god_, my baby girl…who would—"

Matt heard Christie take an unsteady breath. "The police are here but I don't—I don't know what else to do."

"She'll be okay," Matt said.

"You can't tell me that! You don't know! What if—"

"Don't," Matt ordered. "Don't do that to yourself, all right? Listen, I'm leaving now, I'll be over to your place in five minutes. I'll do whatever I can to help get Violet back. Do you hear me? _Anything_—and you _know_ that."

"I do," Christie whispered.

"She'll come home safe. I promise you."

"Matt, please," she said. "I just…I need you here. No promises you can't hold up without doing something reckless."

"Five minutes."

"Thank you."

Matt ended the call and sunk into the corner of the alcove feeling like his whole body suddenly weighed a ton. He hung his head and scrubbed his face with his palm, defeated. The information had yet to register in his mind and he doubted it would for a long while, until his niece's image ended up on posters and newscasts. The thought made him want to throw up. He had seen it happen many times before, innocent children kidnapped at random, their names and pictures plastered everywhere, their families waiting for a positive outcome. Matt never imagined Violet would become one of them. And while it made him feel sick, it also filled him with a sense of rage he was scared to acknowledge. He couldn't get his hands to stop trembling.

All of the adrenaline rushing through him made it impossible to just sit idly by, his arm around his sister's shoulder, waiting. Helplessness was the worst feeling of all. Violet was out there in the city in the possession of a stranger. Matt couldn't think about what she was going through or if she was hurt or worse.

He couldn't imagine himself not out there tearing this entire city apart to find her.

Matt was about to rejoin Kelly at the bar to explain the situation, but his phone went off once more, buzzing in his hand. He nearly thought it was Christie again to warn him about his promise of five minutes, but the contact came up as an unspecified caller. The area code was local, but there wasn't a name attached. Hesitant, Matt accepted the call and pressed the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?"

"And here I thought you'd never get off the phone," an unfamiliar voice drawled on the opposite end. There was a dark amusement in this man's voice to balance out the amount of sarcasm to his words.

"Who is this?" Matt asked. "How'd you get this number?"

"It's really not difficult, Lieutenant, when you have the sort of connections I do."

Matt let out a ragged breath. "Voight?"

The stranger chuckled. "While not entirely off the mark, you're still wrong. Well, partially. It's maddening, isn't it? Not being in control, wandering around with a proverbial blindfold while the floor slips out beneath you, not getting the answers you so desperately want."

"Whatever game you're trying to play, stop it. Right now. I don't have time," Matt snapped. "Who are you?"

"Instead of worrying so much about me, Lieutenant Casey, since I'm of such little importance to you, you should be a bit more focused on that precious niece of yours. Hmm? Violet? Adorable little thing, she is. Got a spark in her, too. If you can appreciate the humor, Lieutenant."

"Look, I don't know how you got my number—"

"As I mentioned before, it's not a problem for someone like me," he said. "Really, at this point, I thought you'd be more concerned about darling Violet."

Matt slammed his fist into the nearby wall and dodged a glare from a patron entering one of the restrooms.

"You have her?" Matt asked. "What did you do to her?"

The line went silent. Matt flicked his tongue across his lips and fought the urge to break the phone into tiny pieces beneath his feet.

"_What did you do?_" he yelled. "Because I swear to god, if you hurt her, I'll do whatever I can to make you wish you hadn't even thought it. Don't think I won't."

"There we go! That's the spirit, Matty. There's that temper of yours I was so waiting for. It's a shame, though, you allowed yourself to consider that she's been harmed. When in reality, she's perfectly safe."

"Yeah? And you expect me to believe what you're telling me?"

"Would you like to speak with her?" the stranger asked. "Would it put your troubled mind at ease?"

"You're lying."

"Oh, I'm a lot of things, Lieutenant Casey, but a liar isn't one of them."

Matt rubbed his palm across his face again. There was some rustling from the other end, followed by a tiny gasp.

"Uncle Matt?"

He inhaled and exhaled through his nose, lips pulled together to keep his emotions locked up tight inside him. Matt turned to face the corner wall, free hand splayed against the surface to brace himself. He leaned his forehead against the coolness of the paneling and closed his eyes. He did everything he could to keep the hot tears welling up from slipping down his face.

"Uncle Matt, are you there?"

"Yeah," Matt answered, fighting to maintain the steadiness in his voice. "Yeah, I'm right here, sweetheart."

He heard her start to cry, which was somehow worse than Christie's sobbing.

"I'm scared."

"Has he hurt you?"

"No."

"Okay…okay. Good. You're going to be all right. I won't let him do anything to you."

"I want to go home," she cried.

"I know. I know you do, and I promise I'll get you home just like I promised your mom. All right? I'm going to come and get you, Violet."

"Hurry?" Violet pleaded, her small voice watery with tears. "Please?"

Before Matt could assure her, the stranger addressed him again in his scathing, cynical tone.

"Now you see, Lieutenant, I'm a man who keeps his word. I have little interest in hurting dear Violet, but if you're still intent on playing hero and saving the day, I'll give you our location."

"I can't trust you."

"Can't or _won't_?" he challenged. "Have you listened to nothing I've said? I'll give you the address if—and this is my one and only request, which isn't unreasonable—you agree to meet us without any law enforcement getting in our way."

"Forget it."

"Really? That's your price? _But Uncle Matt, you promised_," he taunted, taking on an exaggerated, high-pitched whine of an insolent child. "You're not going to make her wait, are you? I half expected you to be out of the bar right now."

Out of instinct, Matt dared a glance around. It was unsettling to think he was being watched at this very moment. How long had he been spied on?

"Fine," Matt said. "Give me the address."

"I'll make myself clear, Lieutenant," the stranger said. "If my men catch you calling for backup of any sort, you won't make it across the parking lot. Do we have an understanding?"

Matt ground his teeth together. "Yes."

"I'll tell Violet you send your love."

The line went silent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Just borrowing.**

**A/N: I can't thank you enough for your positive reviews and all of your favorites/follows! I have a basic idea of how this story is going to play out (the middle is always tough…) but suggestions are always more than welcome. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

The light outside had faded, the sun had nearly finished its descent. Christie waited by the front window, her daughter's favorite stuffed animal, a fluffy baby owl, clutched to her chest. She stole periodic glances through the curtains in anticipation of seeing the headlights of Matt's truck in the driveway. It was still and quiet in the house since the police officers had parted ways with a promise that they would do everything in their power to find Violet. They left a wake of opened photo albums and coffee-stained mugs on her living room table during an arduous series of questions. She barely got through them, her fingers entwined with Jim's, both of them wondering how and why this could have happened. Christie doubted either one of them would sleep tonight, or at all, until their daughter was returned to them.

She rocked on her heels, chin resting on the stuffed animal's head to take in the scent of Violet's shampoo that lingered in the fabric. Her head ached and her eyes felt swollen from the amount of tears shed, still more trickling out slowly. Jim had retreated into the kitchen, wordless, to prepare a late dinner for them—more to preoccupy himself from the guilt she could see in his eyes than out of hunger. He couldn't look at her when he finally got home, after that fateful phone call telling her Violet had been nowhere to be found. No matter how many times Christie taken Jim's face in her hands and told him it wasn't his fault, he wouldn't hear it.

Christie had watched five minutes turn into ten, then fifteen, then twenty. It was dawning on a half hour since she had hung up with Matt. Anxiety twisted in the pit of her stomach. She had contemplated the idea of not telling him to avoid him acting reckless, but it wouldn't have been fair to have held the knowledge to herself overnight. Everything would have boiled over and it would have been much, much worse. Still, she couldn't imagine what Matt could possibly be doing at this time in the evening.

"Damn it, Matt," she whispered.

Christie moved to the couch, the stuffed owl tucked under her arm while she picked up her cell phone. She dialed her brother's number and after a few rings, his pre-recorded voicemail message clicked on. Christie made an effort to keep her voice even.

"Matthew," she started, "I don't know where you are, but you swore to me that you wouldn't do anything stupid. We're all angry, and upset, and… I realize we haven't been very close in recent years, but…_please_, I need your support right now. That's all. _I mean it._ Call me back and let me know when you're going to be here. I'm already worried sick over Violet," he voice finally broke, "don't give me reasons to worry over you, too."

* * *

Kelly had tossed back two more shots by the time Matt reemerged from the back of the bar. There was a dangerous look in his eyes, like his movements weren't of his own volition, like he couldn't see anything else around him except some kind of imaginary destination. Kelly knew something was off. When Matt tried to walk swiftly past the counter toward the door, Kelly seized him by the arm and tugged him back.

"Hey," he said. "What's up? What're you—what's going on with you?"

Matt yanked his arm out of Kelly's grasp. "Gotta take care of something."

"You don't look too good," Kelly said. "If it's that important, I can call you a cab or—"

"It's fine." His words were clipped, hollow. Matt tried once again for the door, but Kelly stepped in front of him, a hand against his chest to keep him from slipping past.

"No, it's not fine," he replied. "What's going on? You walk out that door like this and I'm gonna find your car wrapped around a telephone pole."

Matt pushed Kelly away from him, looking offended. "I'm not drunk."

He attempted to go to the door for a third time—unsuccessfully. Kelly grabbed a fistful of his sweatshirt and shoved him into the bar counter, an arm across Matt's torso to pin him. Kelly had no intention of hurting Matt; rather, his actions were more out of concern than anything else.

"I'm not even talking about that, Casey," Kelly said. "I know you. You're not thinking straight. Talk to me, man. You're not leaving like this and I am _not_ about to pry your corpse out of your goddamn car."

"Is there a problem, fellas?" the bartender asked. He was a large man with a tattoo along the side of his neck. Kelly would have found him more intimidating if they weren't friendly toward each other on a weekly basis.

"No, sir," Kelly answered.

"Then, do you mind taking this outside?"

Kelly nodded at him. Leveling a pointed stare at Matt, he pushed some money onto the countertop, grabbed his jacket, and the two of them walked out of the bar. Matt hung his head, which gave Kelly the impression he was no longer a flight risk. They side-stepped away from the front entrance and lingered on the curb in front of the parking lot. Kelly slid into his jacket and stuffed his hands into his pockets, the cold biting at his skin.

"You want to tell me what's up with you?" he asked.

Matt's voice still carried a hollow tone, only just above a whisper. "Christie called," he said, "Violet, my niece? She's missing. Someone picked her up outside of school."

Kelly pivoted on his heel, throwing a glance up to the darkened sky. "Jesus, Matt, I'm sorry."

He didn't know what else to say to him, didn't know what to do to help Matt make sense of the situation. The fact of the matter was, Kelly had learned the world was populated with some truly vile people who did things like this. It _didn't_ make sense. A simple 'I'm sorry' couldn't change his niece's circumstances or bring her back to her family. Usually, somehow, Kelly found the words to comfort families of those he rescued—or, sometimes, couldn't rescue.

Now, for reasons unknown to him, he couldn't seem to find any. He tried for a moment to place himself in Matt's shoes, to think about what it would be like if he were faced with this. Kelly didn't have much family to come by but if someone he cared so deeply about—Shay, perhaps—had been stolen away, their whereabouts unknown, he didn't think anyone would be able to make him act rationally. He couldn't blame Matt for lashing out in his anger. But he couldn't let him leave when his head wasn't clear.

"Yeah," Matt said. "Thanks."

"You heading to Christie's, then? I can come—"

"No," he replied curtly. "I have to get out of here. I'm all right. It's just something I have to take care of."

Kelly noticed Matt hadn't been looking at him. Since they stepped out the door, he'd been searching beyond Kelly's shoulder, into the shadows of the parking lot. He had tried to be discreet about it, but now Kelly realized he wasn't holding Matt's attention. He was distracted—paranoid, maybe. He followed Matt's line of vision and found nothing but parked cars streaked with harsh fluorescent light. The echo of a car door closing made both of them jump; Matt's paranoia had suddenly latched onto Kelly by association. They exhaled in relief once a couple emerged, arms linked, to pass them on their way into the bar.

"There's more to it, isn't there?" Kelly asked.

Matt sunk into his sweatshirt and left the curb, car keys jingling in his pocket. "Let it go, Severide. I'm not dragging you into this."

Kelly started after him. "Into what?"

"I said _let it go_."

"Casey—"

Matt sprung forward, his fist colliding with the side of Kelly's face. Kelly stumbled from the impact, fingers pressed into the tender spot, stunned. He narrowed his eyes at Matt, who continued across the parking lot to his truck. He stretched out his jaw, wincing, and swiped a thumb to collect blood from his split lip.

"Man, what the hell? I'm trying to help you! _Matt_!"

"Kelly," Matt said firmly. "Go home."

He unlocked the door of his truck, but Kelly slammed it shut the moment he got it open.

"Look, if you're in some kind of trouble, say it. No questions. No judgment. I don't want to be responsible for you letting yourself get killed over whatever—this thing, with Violet? It's worse than you're telling me. Right?"

Matt ducked away from Kelly's questioning gaze. He scrubbed a hand over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He leaned his back against the side of the truck.

"Whoever has Violet called me," he said. "It might be connected to Voight."

"They _called_ you? Son of a bitch." Kelly shook his head. "What'd they say?"

"If I meet him I can get her back."

"And you're seriously considering it?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Matt said, voice rising. "She's my niece, Severide. And if it is Voight's idea of getting back at me, it's my fault she's even gone. He can take me out, I don't care at this point, but I am _not_ going to let him destroy my sister's family."

"Voight's in jail. How—"

"Well, clearly he's still got control on the outside," Matt said. He opened the driver's side door. "I have to go."

"Casey, this is insane. Let the police handle it."

"I can't trust them."

"And you can trust this guy's word?" Kelly countered.

"I heard her on the phone," Matt said. His voice was trembling. "I heard her. She's scared, she's alone…I promised her everything would be okay."

"I get that," Kelly said. "But doesn't it seem off to you? If Voight wants you dead, this is like handing your ass over to him on a silver platter."

"Won't happen," he answered. "I'm bringing her home."

Kelly sighed, frustration nagging at him more than the pain in his shoulder, which had made its return. It was becoming obvious to him now that Matt wasn't going to listen to reason no matter how much Kelly argued with him to change his mind.

"Yeah? You got a plan, then?" Kelly asked. "You're not invincible, you know. It's the adrenaline talking."

"You're not coming with me."

"The hell I'm not," Kelly shouted. "If you're not taking this to the police, you're definitely not going out alone."

"I'm not taking you."

Kelly slammed his hand against the door frame. Matt flinched. "_I can't lose another brother, Casey_," he yelled. "Don't you get that? If you leave here, I'm calling the cops."

Matt stole a worried glance behind him. They both heard a car start up, dim headlights flooding a spot toward the back of the lot. Matt shoved Kelly in the direction of the passenger's side door.

"Get in."

"What's going on?"

Matt ignored the question until they were inside with the doors locked. He turned the truck on, hoping it would signal whoever was waiting in the parking lot to open fire to hold their trigger happy fingers.

"If we get the police involved, this guy will make sure I don't leave here alive," Matt explained. "He's got people following me. And now, probably you, too."

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

Kelly swore under his breath.

"I was trying to avoid this," Matt said. "You should've gone home."

"Forget it," Kelly said. "So, where are we going?"

There was a Post-It note stuck onto the rearview mirror. Neither one of them had seen it in their haste to get into the truck, but in the light, Matt could make out a scrawl in dark ink. He lifted it off the mirror and held it up to Kelly, whose previous question seemed to be answered. This had been planned for some time. Whoever it was had been trailing Matt and had broken quietly into his truck to leave a breadcrumb even before Matt had agreed to take the bait. Kelly thought it was a bit egotistical, maybe a bit smug to assume Matt would go for it. Then again, the more he let the information sit, the more he felt this person knew a hell of a lot about Matt's impulses and behavior. Kelly felt a growing sense of unease—if these people had been stalking Matt for awhile, had they been keeping an eye on him, too? And everyone else at 51?

Kelly shook off the notion as best as he could. "Memorize that."

"Why?"

He said nothing, only took the Post-It and stuck it to the inside of his pocket before he climbed back out of the car, leaving the door wide open. Matt watched his retreating back, heart racing. His attention bounced back and forth between the car idling in the far corner and Kelly, who was walking over to his Camaro.

The car crept from its parking space. Matt leaned over the dashboard, his breath shallow and uneven.

"Come on, Severide," he whispered. His fingers wrapped around the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. What the hell would he do if Kelly got shot because of him?

Kelly had a map that he kept wedged in between the two front seats. It was a far-fetched hope, but he stuck the Post-It note with the address to the inside of the map, folded it, and replaced it where it had been. He pulled his keys from his pocket and left them beside the map. With those gestures, Kelly was putting his faith in Shay to help them out if things went bad. He believed in her. He and Matt had at least an hour's drive ahead of them and even if it turned out all right, Shay would worry if he didn't call or come home. This was for the police to find.

He slammed the door shut and saw the car with its headlights on had inched its way closer to Matt's truck. The gravelly sound of the engine made his pulse quicken; he steeled himself against his own fear and made the walk back. He hated knowing the two silhouettes visible through the windshield were tracking his every step, guns drawn. This whole situation was so above and beyond either of them. It was a fool's errand, walking into a trap, unarmed, with a little girl's life in danger. Kelly hoped it wouldn't end with his and Matt's badges pinned next to Andy's. If anything, he hoped they could end this rationally without shedding blood—but if it came to fight, he'd back Matt up without a moment's doubt.

He climbed back into the passenger's seat with a shrug, all for show.

"Had too many shots," he laughed as he closed the door, voice raised to allow the two figures in the car to hear. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

**A/N: Drop me a review on your way out!**


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